Nemesis
by vivaciousRingo
Summary: Times of the ancient Rome. The brutal world of the arena where blood and death are primetime entertainment. World where corruption and violence rule, and what matters only is fame and sex. Yaoi. SanZo.


**Title: Nemesis**

**Summary:** Times of the ancient Rome. The brutal world of the arena where blood and death are primetime entertainment. World where corruption and violence rule, and what matters only is fame and sex.

**Pairing: **Sanji/Zoro. SanZo.

**Warnings: **Not beta'ed. Future slash. Explicit scenes of violence. Minor characters' deaths.

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters nor am I making any money writing this story. Belongs to Oda-sensei's brilliant mind.**

**A/N I: **The reason why I posted it much sooner than I wanted is because of **Lolly Dream**'s push. I can't refuse her demands, it seems. This particular idea and the other one for Broken Faith planted seeds inside of my mind while I was talking with Lolly, see. As soon as I shared about them with her, she encouraged me to go and _write it down, dammit, or else—_*chuckles* When she writes with me I get an _immense _want to write something amazing that would make others proud and in awe over it. Thank you, Lolly-dear!

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**Nemesis***

_*the Greek goddess of vengeance, justice, and destiny. Called woman without shame and guiltless. Meaning: "to give what is due". Romans equated her to Invidia – in imperial times she was the patroness of gladiators. Nemesis was viewed as the maiden goddess of proportion and the avenger of crime, possessing attributes; a measuring rod (tally stick), a bridle, scales, a sword, and a scourge, and rides in a chariot drawn by griffins._

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_Prologue._

___-x-x-x-x-x-_

_**Behold a man who became a legend…**_

_-x-x-x-x-x-_

Born without future. At the start of their life, but with mark engraved and burned onto the very skin indicating their life is no more. Not a human anymore. Lower even than an animal. Inferior and different race. Lesser man. Second-grade product. Easy to dispose of and replaceable. Not protected by any laws. Only living with the purpose to serve and entertain their _masters_.

_Slaves…_

Ordinary humans. Only single thing was making them _different_ from other citizens of Rome.

It was their_ status. _

Without it you were nothing. And, more importantly, you were treated as such back then. There was no discrimination based on skin colour. Discrimination was solely based on social status. Whether someone was a slave, a Roman citizen, or a foreigner—_peregrinus_.

Roman Empire after swallowing all of the lands surrounding the Mediterranean Sea was like a pregnant woman. Amazing in the face of sacrifice by providing the necessary nutrition to all of the Empire's precious children. But also large quantities of them were making the Empire weaker internally and prone to attacks from the outside with years passing. Due to the vast boarders it was a heavy task to protect each and every province. But most of all it was the internal disputes that threatened the stability of this prosperous and huge civilization.

However, before the fall of one of the greatest and largest of Empires ever existing in history I want to take you all to the hot, sunny and beautiful Rome. At the peak of its glory. Counting now _thousands_ of years ago. Where the city built on the seven hills was a home for the massive amounts of different nationalities now united under one enormous _Emporium Romanum_…

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…

* * *

The air in the underground was humid, overly warm and short of suffocating. The stench there was unbearable although guards called them jokingly 'fresh meat'.

A group of slaves sat dejectedly on the ground. Drenched with sweat, dirty and smelly. Their faces rarely betrayed any emotions. Despite the hot weather some slaves were shivering uncontrollably. It was the icy feeling of fear making their limbs tremble. They knew their lives were finished the moment they became captured. But still, they clung strongly to hope that after being sold off in the city's piazza—on the slave market, they_ could_ get the better end of the stick and, for example, end up in the home of a patrician as a part of the staff of domestic servants. This way there was a hope that one day they could be freed. But even this small ray of light in the darkness was squashed the moment they were brought to the arena.

Realizing that _this_ was their fate—all what was left for them was to pray to gods they believed in to save them from what was waiting at the end of the underground tunnel.

The only safe place they could find was their own mind. That's why they tried to distance themselves from everything that had happened, keeping their emotions at bay and avoiding making conversations. The silence was comforting somewhat. Interrupted only when someone tried to fend off an especially persistent fly, and rattled the chain in the process.

Looking into their eyes you could see they held no fire, no life so to speak, or no wish to rebel or fight.

Only resigned acceptance.

But, surprisingly, there sat also few that watched all the happenings with calm disinterest and indifference. As if waiting and anticipating something.

All of the prisoners were chained together by a long chain. Every three _pedes_—feet_—_thick and heavy, iron shackles were locked around their wrists.

Judging by their looks, some of them came from the most remote parts of the Empire. Probably bought in some Asian of African ports, sold off by their masters, prisoners of war, or even free men caught in some far away provinces or even beyond—where only 'barbarians' lived.

They were meant to become a momentary amusement for the large crowd of people visiting the arena to see an interesting spectacle, for excitement, to sate their craving for blood, or for business—to win some money while betting on who will be left alive.

If you were locked in there you were as good as dead.

As much as people loved carnage it wouldn't be quite the spectacle with all of the 'goods' dying. There always needed to be someone that looked stronger than the others. So that way he could survive first round at least and be put into few more fights later on, earning lots of money to the one who owned him or those that placed their bets well.

People loved _heroes._ People that did shocking or supposedly impossible to accomplish feats. Surprising all.

And this was a perfect place to find such. On the boarder of the Empire, where the selection took place—a search for the best merchandises happened. Some less fortunate were chosen to become sacrificial pieces in the games. But the arena was also a place where heroes were made. A raw material still—but already possessing the charisma and skills enough to make crowd go wild, while they observed slaves of both gender raging on the arena.

There could be also felt hope. Fleeting, just like a passing quickly moment but nonetheless it _was_ there.

Those that knew nothing else but spend their whole lives under the heavy hand of their masters, being treated as sub-humans and forced to obey even the most inhuman or humiliating to another being wishes of their masters—it was a way to obtain their freedom. Finally, to be released from the evil mark that put shadow on their very existence.

But at the top could stand only few.

Few chosen ones. The fiercest, strongest, experienced and what is important—_loved by the crowd. _

It happened that those people could have in their hands so much influence that even of the Emperor himself had to change his mind in favour of the crowd's wishes. And it was all made by the _stars _of the arena.

Gladiators.

Not anyone could manage to acquire this status and even less survived until they got their promised liberty.

Hope and conviction in victory was what managed to bring forth those with a spirit of a great warrior and a leader.

This is a record of great individuals, struggling through theirs lives in that corrupted world and on the path to discover that things such as love, friendship and _family_ still can be found even in the most unusual of places. You could say they were bound to meet again and again throughout the history, connected by the red string of fate…

* * *

…

* * *

"It's time. Get moving!" One of the guards said.

The prisoners were pulled to a standing position, then lead all the way until they reached the wooden doors leading to the outside.

"All halt!"

The restraints bounding them together were taken off and for the first time in_ many_, many days they could feel the lightness of their unrestricted hands and massage the sore points.

The door opened slowly. Bright light blinded the slaves for a moment. Loud cheers were heard and they could feel ground shaking.

Crowd was restless already.

It was time.

First row was pushed forward harshly by one of the paid guard there. One by one they went through the opened doors and into the wide open arena where greeted them deafening cheers of blood-thirsty crowd.

One man, instead of panicking like others and wildly looking around in search for some place to hide, he cast a quick look around to place the executors_. _He took in their build, movement of their feet, and how they wielded their weapons. Next moment a slow smile spread over his handsome features. Full of confidence and unhidden glee.

He saw a way to the victory.

He cast a look above the grounds. Searching the crowd for some influential or wealthy looking Romans, that he was sure he could use to fulfill his goal.

Satisfied about his little search, he focused on what was before him.

15 seconds. And he'd be done here. And on the way to the capital of the Roman Empire.

He closed his eyes. Calming his soul and basking in the warmth of the sun. He took one deep breath, gathering his focus and casting away from his awareness all sounds the wild crowd was making. Light glistered briefly in his bright green hair making it almost sparkle from all of the water he managed to sweat out in the disgusting underground.

When he opened his eyes there was no hesitation in them whatsoever. Only the look of a deep resolve. It was like calm before the storm making the atmosphere heavy in the suspended silence, or the moment just before when the wild beast prepared to jump and attack his pray. That was the impression you got when looking at his bare-chested figure, and muscles rippling underneath the faint sheen of the bronzed skin.

Body of the gods incarnated into this one man. A slave wanting to get his freedom back and to fulfill the promise. That's why he needed to get into the largest arena in the whole known world and …begun his hunt.

A slow smirk spread itself in the very corner of his mouth. Confidence. Slow steps one at the time _on the road to be the best! _And he would be sure to make them all. Even those falsely insignificant ones and most time consuming.

It was just a simple matter of time.

And he knew it with every fiber of his being.

The sound was heard announcing the start of the massacre. But it wasn't a day _for him _to die yet. Zoro Roronoa. Still a slave though soon all of the people of the Empire would know his name and say it with excitement and deep respect.

But it was still a distant future, now he needed yet _to climb_ to the position he wished to acquire.

That's why putting aside all of the distracting him thoughts he let the words of his dead friend roll inside of his head like a mantra preparing him for the things he was about to do…

**_Kill them all!_**

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…

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_Author's note: I love Rome. I've been there twice already and still want to go and visit it again. Because I love history too. Brutal, heroic… I'd love to …just for a one, single day…to be able to be a spectator in the Coliseum at the time where Maximus was fighting and cheer him on along with the crowd and …feel the sickening but exciting at the same time enthusiasm of people there when the kill was a form of a daily entertainment for them. I'd love to hear your ideas, tips too, so that I could be able to create something… bloody but beautiful…_


End file.
